


Djinn

by tambrathegreat



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tambrathegreat/pseuds/tambrathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A thoroughly modern flapper meets a hundred-thousand-year-old Djinn in the desert.  His three wishes bring her more pleasure than she ever thought imaginable.</p>
<p>Written for a challenge on another site.  The prompt will be revealed in the notes of the final chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Discovery of a Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of original fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. All rights are retained by the author. 
> 
> No Ancient Babylonian gods were harmed in the writing of this fiction.

Dr Madeleine Whetstone watched several lithe Arab workmen, dressed in their customary _jelabiya,_ a long robe of once-white cotton.  Most of the older men had the long gowns hitched into the belts at their waist and looped to crudely cover their groin, and some of the younger ones had dispensed with the covering on their tops, choosing instead to push down the blouse-like gown and to wear the cotton as a sarong. It was a pleasing sight that did nothing to cool Madeleine’s libido, which had been overactive since she had arrived in this stultifying, Abrahamic land a year ago.

 

Though, to be honest, she knew enough not to act upon her impulses lest she spell certain disaster for her shaky standing in the Egyptian archaeological community.  Her personal situation had not been much better in England.  Women rarely attained a doctorate in any field, much less one as esoteric as hers.  She’d had very few beaux in her life, none of them serious, and only one had managed to divest her of her burdensome virginity and give her a continued measure of respite from her physical cravings.  The experience had been less than stellar, especially with the threat to both their careers had she ended up in the family way. They had parted company after a year.  She hadn’t even given him a thought when she had left England for the shores of Africa.

 

Sometimes, though, in the middle of a cold desert night, she wished that she could find a man who would challenge her, make her wanton.  She wanted a man who would be all the things that she had renounced on her chosen path, but most of all, she wanted to remain her own woman, a respected archaeologist, not some breeder of Empire bound sons.

 

She turned her attention from the sweating men, to the sketch she had made of what they were doing, but alas, her attention was once again pulled to the site as a great shout rose from the group. 

 

The men moved around a large cover stone over the entrance to what she hoped would be the discovery of the century.  Several heaved against ropes that had been hooked into the stone itself, their strain evident in the tautness of their leg muscles and the sweat that soaked through their cotton garments.   A young boy was dispatched to her side, “ _Mem_ , _Mem!_ Dr Nassir said to tell you that the stone has strange markings.  He thinks you should see them!  Now _, Mem!_ Come!  The doctor doesn’t like to be kept waiting!”

 

Dr Salim Nassir’s dark, hawk-eyed gaze caught hers, and he sneered slightly through his silver-shot beard.  He was the director of antiquities at the museum for which they both worked, and a renowned scholar of all things Egyptian.  Madeleine stirred from her camp stool, not relishing the move into the sun from the shade of her tent, set up on the side of the hill for the best vantage of the three week old dig.  She donned the pith helmet that she had cadged from her older brother, who had served his military conscription in India rather than the European theatre of the War to End All Wars, before she left England for the hotter, sunnier climes of Egypt.  

 

Making her way down the loose rock strewn gravel of the basin, she arrived at the older man’s side.  “You requested me, Dr Nassir?”

 

“Yes, Madame, we have found a strange line of petroglyphs at either side of the structure.”  His English was precisely spoken, and did nothing to cover his scorn for her status as the lead archaeologist of this particular dig.  His refusal to use her title rankled her nearly beyond reason.  However, twelve years of scorn in the English academic world helped her to mask her ire.  Though his scorn was no less, and no more derisive than the treatment she received from her Western compatriots at the museum, but it somehow stung more.  His influential regard would never be won, simply because of her gender, no matter how well received her articles were to any publication in the world. Gathering her scattered thoughts, she finally peered at the markings as she observed, “I’ve never seen these types of glyphs before.”

 

He barked something in Arabic and the workers halted.  She was aware that at least two of the younger men leered at her trouser clad bottom, whilst the more seasoned labourers flopped onto the ground, covering their eyes with the length of cloth left loose from their turbans for that purpose. 

 

Madeleine moved to the side of one stone and looked at the strange markings.  The petroglyphs were definitely a new language; they resembled cuneiform since the language used hash marks and geometric shapes to convey meaning, but the glyphs seemed to be grouped into long, rambling strings rather than succinct word groups.  In that, they resembled ancient Egyptian tomb spells, but the resemblance ended there. She ran her hand over their surface, attempting to clear some of the years of sand from their surface, and felt an oddly caressing surge of power under her fingertips as she drew away.  The feeling stayed in her hand even as she moved back to Dr Nassir.  She said, “I’ve never seen their like, before.”

 

She rubbed her still tingling fingertips against her trousers.  She smiled sweetly and asked, “You do have a linguistics expert at the museum, don’t you?”

 

“But of course, Madame. We are a thoroughly modern institution.”  Nassir’s answering smile did not reach his eyes. “I’ll send a boy to telegraph him.  He might be able to be here by tomorrow afternoon.”

 

“That would be most excellent, Doctor.” She turned her back on her colleague, saying over her shoulder, “Now, let’s get this tomb opened.  I can’t wait to see what’s beyond that stone.”

 

An hour later the cover stone was rolled to the side, obscuring one side of the strange writing.  The tomb, if that was indeed what it was, lay open, a dark, cool hole in the sweltering heat of the afternoon.  The workmen were all away, saying their afternoon prayers before they began their rest period.  Even Dr Nassir was in the same occupation.  It was one of the drawbacks of allowing a superstitious native to achieve such a position of pre-eminence in the museum, but it also afforded Madeleine an opportunity she might not have had otherwise.  She carefully made her way to the structure, pencil and sketchbook in hand, her folded camp stool hanging from the rucksack in which she carried the tools of her trade. 

 

When she got to the opening, she lit a candle and placed it just inside the doorway.  It would do no good for her to enter the structure only to die of anoxia.  When the candle did not gutter or go out, she reached into a small cage that held a pearl-grey, ringed neck dove.  She gently grabbed the bird and stepped into the mouth of the first room.  She let it go, and it fluttered about the room and past the first stone lintel that might open into the burial chamber itself.  When the bird flew back to her and landed on her outstretched hand, she placed it back in the cage and then lit the torch that she had retrieved from her pack.  It was time to explore. 

 

She entered the antechamber fully. She didn’t know what she had expected, but the unadorned sandstone of what could have been an ordinary cave, was not it.  She began measuring the room, pacing off the size with a surveyor’s wheel.  She noted the exact spots where crude benches had been carved into the stone and the location of an oddly shaped flat stone in the centre of the floor.  When she finally crossed to the door of the next room, a tingle of anticipation shivered down her spine as that strangely caressing power she had felt in her fingertips enveloped her body.   

 

Putting down the same candle she had used at the first doorway, she waited impatiently for the process to begin over again. She ascertained in moments that the air was fresh, and she crossed the threshold.

 

The sumptuous, gilded room was not what she expected.  No one in their right mind would expect such pristinely preserved and perishable artefacts to be present in a tomb of great age.  She moved through the luridly coloured fabrics that lined the surfaces of the tomb, careful not to touch them.  Textiles of a mere hundred years of age would crumble given the right circumstances, though, if this tomb were ancient Egyptian, Madeleine would eat her brother’s pith helmet, buckles and all.  Disappointment threatened to subsume her love of the discovery, but she quickly squelched it.  Even if this was just some Bedouin thief’s cave there were certainly discoveries to be made. The strange petroglyphs on the outside of the cave spoke to that fact.

 

She made a circuit of the room, carefully noting the positions of articles that caught her attention.  When she reached the back of the room, the air shifted.  A refreshingly cool breeze in the stifling afternoon desert heat stirred the air.  A curtain of finely woven, blue linen lifted, revealing another room beyond.  Madeleine carefully lifted the fabric, which felt crisp and fresh under her fingers, and saw that the lintel of the new doorway was carved with the same type of glyphs that had adorned the outer wall.   She didn’t bother with the bird which sat by the first door, and stepped through the portal. 

 

A dizzying wave hit her as she crossed the threshold, and for a moment, she fell against the stone of the wall, her eyes closed against the nauseating motion of the room. When she opened her eyes, she screamed. 

 

A cinnamon-skinned man clad in nothing more than a smile and some jewels, lay on a raised dais in the centre of the room.  He stretched in a cat-like gesture, highlighting his lithe, oiled muscles and masculine beauty.  His hair was unfashionably long, curly, and so black it appeared blue.  As he brought his graceful hands down to his lap, Madeleine gave into the urge to follow the gesture.  Her eyes lit on his flaccid member nested in a dark, silky bed of hair.  As she stared at him, his manhood stirred to life, lengthening and broadening in an alarming manner. None of her former partners had been that well-endowed.  She fought the urge to dwell on the alluring picture he made with his glistening bronze skin and wickedly gleaming eyes, to bring her gaze back up to his tawny one.  Feeling uncomfortable heat suffuse her cheeks, an answering pulse of awareness pulled at her lower down.   He regarded her from his position with a cool air of insouciant humour, his perfect, feathery brow drawn up in an expression that mocked and invited her.  “So, you are the mortal who was prophesied to set me free.  How _interesting_.”

 

His speech, though perfectly understandable, was strange and stilted, as if he had just learned to speak the words aloud.  He patted a spot on the dais next to him, “Join me before you rescue me.  The goddess, my Queen, in her infinite wisdom, has seen fit to give me respite from my long exile, with you, my little savage.”

 

“I-I don’t think…,” Madeleine began, before she lifted her chin, and in her best approximation of English school-girl hauteur, proclaimed, “That, sir, is not going to happen.”

 

She turned to leave the room only to find that the door had disappeared.  “Let me out of here!”

 

Another strange shifting of the air brought Madeleine to her knees, her eyes once again closed against the tilting of the small corner of world in which she resided.  When she opened them, a pair of perfectly formed, and if it could be said, beautiful feet was in her line of vision.  She leaned back and followed lissom legs to a proudly jutting cock so near her mouth that she could almost taste the sweet flesh.  Her quest stuttered to a halt as he reached down to her, extending a masculine hand with perfectly manicured nails towards her.  “I mean you no harm, fair one.”

 

 “Could you… cover that… that… your…,” she said over the rapid tattoo of her heart.  She stuttered to a halt, her cheek brushing his erection, and he smiled, revealing a row of perfect white teeth behind the cupid’s bow of his full lips.  Pushing his hand aside and careful not to brush his jutting member again, she rose with far less grace than she would have if she had taken his assistance, “Oh, for heaven’s sake, put some clothes on!”

 

“Ah, I wasn’t aware… are you a maiden?”  He looked distinctly less pleased at the prospect than Madeleine would have expected given the culture in which he was raised. 

 

“Wha—how is that any business of yours, you loathsome… _kidnapper?!_ ” 

 

He tilted his head as if in thought, his tawny eyes undoubtedly taking in her state of panic, no doubt, the gold chains at his throat, wrists, and ankles tinkling in the heavy silence of the room. He finally said, “So, not a maiden, then.  Tiamat, the Queen of Heaven, surely has blessed me with one of her own temple’s priestesses.  Come, I will honour you with braised lotus blossom and honey before we commence.”

 

He drew closer to her, enveloping her with the scent of sandalwood and myrrh from his skin. She shrank against the wall.  “Please, I’ll… do anything…”

 

“I live in hope, my flower.” His eyes lit with lascivious mirth as he waved his hand. The room filled with the scent of well-cooked food, under the succulent odour of meat lay an undertone of honey, almonds, and roses.  Madeleine raised her chin imperiously, and he inclined his head in a gesture of munificence that one should not have as unclothed as he was.  He said through his clenched, perfect teeth, “As you wish, my gazelle.”

 

 He lifted his hand and a blue nimbus surrounded it before he drew it down his body.  The air shimmered and then he was clothed in a crisp, white, linen kilt and a heavy, lapis blue robe embroidered with the same glyphs that were on the outside of the tomb. Behind him lay a table covered in sweetmeats and delicacies with a decidedly ancient flair.   A whole peacock sat in the centre of the table, its skin crispy and golden, the tail feathers, obviously reattached after cooking, splayed as they would have been in life.  Two small rubies sat where the hapless fowl’s eyes had been.

 

It was then, with that inexplicable display of magic, that Madeleine knew that she was dreaming.  She had probably been overcome by the heat or misjudged the quality of the air in the chamber.  The tight ball of tension that had been hovering in her shoulders and radiating down to her stomach released enough that she shivered as if chilled.  The man’s sardonic gaze swept her from the top of her purloined pith helmet to the scuffed tips of her boots.  “It seems, my lovely savage, that you also need a change in costume.  Your clothing’s functionality leaves too much to the imagination.  I would feast my eyes on your opalescent flesh, and marvel at the tamed fire in your hair before I partake of your sweeter pleasures.”

 

He stepped forward again, plucking the helmet from her head, snagging the short strawberry blonde locks as he did.  He threw it heedlessly to the side and then raised his hand. Once again the air shimmered, and Madeleine gasped as the harshness of military wool and khaki was replaced by the slither of silk. The sudden absence of any foundation garments caused the coolness in the chamber to make her nipples pucker.  The naked desire she saw in the man’s regard of her new state of undress caused heat to pool in her loins.

 

He once again raised his hand for her to take, the lapis and gold bracelets on his wrist catching the light as he did.  “Come, let us feast before we couple.”

 

If this was a dream, and Madeleine was almost certain of the fact, she decided that she would partake of all the pleasures that this particular imagined incubus had to offer.  She took his arm, and with a rare smile said, “Before we commence with our more carnal pleasures, don’t you think it might be nice to exchange names?”

 

“Ah, I always forget how much stock you mortals put in the small exchanges of knowledge.”  He laid his hand over hers, caressing first her fingers and then further up her arm.   “Very well, my sweet Madeleine, if you give me one kiss from those lusciously ripe lips of yours, I will grant your wish.”

 

“Of course,” She answered and puckered her lips in preparation, dismissing his knowledge of her name as anomaly of her dream state. 

 

He pulled her close to his hard, warrior’s body.  He was a massive specimen of humanity;  Madeleine’s five foot six inches seemed dwarfed by his looming presence, yet she felt no real threat.  He lifted her chin and ghosted a caress of his lips over hers.  “Those were not the lips I was speaking of, my springbok.”

 

Madeleine’s blood seemed to catch fire at his words, rushing to her womb with such heat that she felt she might burn up. She played along with the dream, however and said, “Why, of course, how utterly silly of me.” 

 

She ducked under his loosened grasp, “Please, sir, do what you will.  I will have your name one way or another.”

 

With that comment, she strolled towards the dais and climbed onto it, her heart-shaped bottom in the air, her gaze cast over her shoulder at the incubus.  After a moment’s hesitation, he followed her overt invitation.

 

Madeleine’s dreams were about to come true.

 


	2. Tiamat's Gift

Qingu cocked his head watching the delectable mortal as she went through the process of denial that all mortals seemed to do when meeting a god.  Her outrage was delicious.  It smelled of equal parts desperation and desire.   
  
Even though he had been imprisoned for the last hundred thousand years, brought low by Marduk, the son of a hyena and treacherous mate of the Queen of Heaven, he had been able to keep abreast of mortals.  He knew of the empires they built that turned to ash and sand over time.  He knew of the new god they had crowned, Elihu, the desert dwelling god of unwashed sheep herders and celibate Romans.  He knew of the Age of Reason, the revolutions to overthrow men who would claim to be the dead god’s right hand, and the toys they built to make themselves faster than a swift river.  He read their words, enjoyed their music, laughed at their obeisance to the ridiculous notion of sexual purity.  How could a man judge if a wife were fertile unless she had many lovers and at least one child with one of them?   
  
He also knew that the gods he had sought to rule so long ago were dead, his sweet Tiamat, the treacherous Marduk, the beauteous Damkina, the fierce Ishtar, and the rest of his brothers and sisters, all dead for lack of worship.  Their altars were buried in the sands of the Euphrates, their immortal bones scattered in the heavens.  He alone, through Marduk’s treachery, was left.

 

And now, he had one of these mortals before him, putting her delicious body on lewd display.  It had been too long since he had dallied amongst the temple priestesses that were in charge of earthy pleasure.  Surely she was a long denied gift of his Queen.  Yet... the woman was not in proper awe of his superiority.  He craved worship more than he needed to bury his divine cock in her.  He needed her on her knees before he ploughed her.

 

“Come, my fire-crested beauty, I will tell you my story whilst we dine.”  He held out his hand and almost laughed at the pout displayed on her face at his change of plans.  “When we have sated ourselves with food, then, I will let you worship my body.”

 

The mortal gave an undignified snort before clambering from the bed.  He thought he heard her mumble something about dreams and wishes before she joined him at the couch that he caused to appear before the table.  He lay down and she followed, after a small amount of hesitation. He tucked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, aligning his hips against hers.  She smelled of acrid sweat, wool, and a softer female scent.  It was not an unpleasant odour, and did cause his cock to lurch back to life.  He ground against her, and was gratified to feel her return the pressure. 

 

“You said you’d tell me your story,” she said after a breathless moment. 

 

He smiled into her hair, buried his nose against her neck and sniffed before licking the salty sweat from her nape.  “Yes.  My troubles began in the month of Tiamat, the Goddess Queen, and my life was falling apart rather spectacularly…”

 

And so he told her of Marduk’s treachery, how the little civil functionary had tricked him, Qingu, Dragon Lord, into relinquishing the tablets of Creation and Uncreation that his Queen, and future wife, had sewn to his chest.  How Marduk had betrayed all the gods by taking those tablets and creating lesser beings, mortals that would aspire to godhood in the end.  He told how the cretin had sacrificed one of Qingu’s most trusted servants, and scattered his remains, relaying to Tiamat that Qingu was dead, while in fact, Marduk had imprisoned him for a thousand millennia.  It was only after the mud people of the earth had rebelled, and rejected the pantheon that Tiamat had sought out her one time affianced, only to find that Marduk’s treachery had no limit, and Qingu was effectively lost to her and them. He let the mortal see his years of lonely solitude and desire to pass on as his family had before him.  He couldn’t help himself, he had been alone to long to be able to control his emotions properly.  Marduk reigned, made stronger by the worship of the mortals he created, and Tiamat’s power shrank, but before she lost all of it, she gave Qingu one way to escape his prison.  He had three wishes to grant, and those wishes would set him free, if the mortal creature who found him would ask for it. 

 

The mortal woman, this Madeleine, remained silent as he spoke, looking at him with some amusement, before she finally spoke, “So, in this outlandish dream, I’m the one who gets the wishes?”

 

“Yes, my lotus-blossom.”  He dipped his head, hiding his amusement at her disbelief.  “And I believe that I have already granted one wish to you.  I have given you my name.”

 

“No, that wasn’t one of my …,” she began, but stopped as he slid his hand down her thigh and then up again, rucking the robes up to her hip.  His hand dipped down, touching the curls at the crest of her mons, and his questing finger sought the wet heat between her legs.  She stiffened and then let her legs fall open slightly.  “Oh… yes…”

 

Her responsiveness to his touch was a balm to him, better than mere worship.  He slid down her body, shrugging off the robes he wore as he did.  He reached her breast and sucked the pointed crest of its nipple in his mouth, abrading it under the slick silk with his tongue.  She arched into him as he suckled, and then groaned as he quit.  He raised his hand, the blue flame of his power concentrating in it, and then banished her clothing.  He slipped further down her body, enjoying the whiteness of her flesh, laving the rounded softness of her belly with his tongue and dipping lower. Once again, he stopped, his questing fingers stilled. “Open your legs further for me.”

 

“I’ve never… I don’t know…,” she gasped but complied with a pretty flush across her cheeks.  “Are you sure?”

 

His only answer was to continue his quest.   He had said he wanted to kiss those lips, and it had been so long since he had let the juices of a woman, mortal or divine, cross his tongue.  He all but buried his face in her quim, stroking her to a frenzy, her juices flowing across his very talented muscle.  She jerked against him, her legs opening wider until her inarticulate, hoarse cries reached their peak.  He slid three of his fingers into her, loving the pulse of her muscles around them as she came. 

 

He continued stroking her as he rose.  He positioned his now aching cock against her entrance and with what little control he had left, he plunged into her.  She screamed his name, called out to god, and broke apart in his arms.  He joined her, suddenly hoping that his seed would find root in her womb.  He found that he wanted to live and to bind this little mortal to him forever.  He knew a little demigod in her belly would do that very well.    
  
They lay panting into the cool silence of the chamber for a while.  She broke the silence with her next wish. “I wish that I could be respected in my field and not have to struggle forever against the stigma of my gender.”

 

Qingu laughed against her skin, too tired yet to pick up his head.  “Your wish will be granted, if you promise to worship me with that very profane mouth of yours.”

 

He flopped over on his back.  “Now.”

 

She looked doubtful. “But, I’ve never… only… bad women do that kind of thing.”

 

“I will teach you that pleasure is not a sin, my flower,” he said as he summoned a pot of honey tipping it haphazardly over his cock.  “The god of your land is a liar if he says it is.  Now, worship me so that I might pleasure you again.”

 

She slid down his body, following the same path he had on hers, peppering his oiled skin with biting kisses.  Once she reached his cock, she hesitated, opening her mouth as she worked his foreskin back.  She regarded the still slick head with some trepidation, but opened her mouth and let her questing tongue wipe the honey off the mushroomed head.  She opened her mouth slightly, before asking, “Am I doing this right?”

 

“Oh, yes, my gazelle.”

 

She dipped her head, sucking more of him into her mouth, licking the path of the honey off his skin.  It took all of Qingu’s self-control not to buck into that cavity and take his pleasure as he would.  He was a god, no matter how lonely he had been, he could show her patience.  She soon became confident as he voiced his pleasure, but too soon, his control began to fray and he pulled her away from him.  “Enough worship, my flower.  I would give you pleasure now.”

 

He eased into her this time, drawing the sighs and moans from her with his gentleness.  He would have his freedom and her too, if he gave her enough pleasure.  He said, “It is time for your third wish, the one that might just give us what we both want, my treasure.”  
  
He ghosted her skin with a brush of his lips, his hair falling in a cascade around them.  Her sheath convulsed around his iron-hard rod causing the Dragon Lord to plead with her, something he had never done in his long life, “Please, my precious gem, please…”

 

“I wish that this… we… could go on forever, that this isn’t just some fevered dream, and that you were… my lover, my friend… I wish...” He thrust into her harder with each phrase, frenzied now that his goal was in sight.  She panted, “I wish… Oh God!   I wish you and I were together and out of here….  I’m going to…”

 

Once again she reached her pinnacle with him and he froze, spilling his seed into her.  His senses expanded into the realm beyond the physical world for the first time in his aeons of captivity, and he felt his Queen, weakened but alive, give her benediction to him and this mortal.  Tiamat let a soul loose from her own womb and pushed it into his mortal’s body.  When Qingu kissed his thoroughly modern mortal, he tasted himself and the tiny flame of awareness in Madeleine’s belly.  Her wish, along with his, had been granted.  They fell asleep in the aftermath of the divine storm of magic.

 

 

&*&*&  


Madeleine awoke from her nap.

 

She stretched, feeling the creak of the camp bed, hearing the shouts of workmen as they went about the excavation.  Her body ached at the remembered pleasures of her dream, almost as if she had been stretched and opened.  A soft burn of pleasure filled her womb at the thought of such a thing actually happening, especially as she remembered her wanton behaviour.  She chided herself, even as she blushed, remembering the incubus’ actions. 

 

_It was only a dream._

 

She rose from the bed, drawing on her clothes that felt a little rougher, a little more pedestrian than they had before her nap.  It was if her flesh remembered the whisper soft feel of silk, and the burnished warmth of bronzed skin against hers. 

_It was just a dream._

 

Voices drew nearer as Madeleine readied herself for a foray outside the tent.  She could make out Dr Nassir’s but the other was softer, strangely accented, as if he spoke only rarely.  She exited the shelter and stopped, her mouth working in shock.

 

Qingu, the god from her dreams, with his unfashionably long hair, bronze skin, and tawny eyes, stood before her, speaking to Dr Nassir in an earnest manner.  His attention flickered from Nassir’s face for a moment, his expression guarded.   Nassir followed his gaze, “Ah, Dr Whetstone!  Your husband--Dr Ophiuchus, isn’t it?--he has finally arrived to help us with those petroglyphs.  It is such an honour to meet you, sir.”  Nassir rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation before he added, “Your wife has been such a bold leader on this dig.  I must say, I can’t get over my pride at having backed her on this expedition.”

 

“M-my husband?”  She felt rooted to the spot.  “I-I… yes, of course…I must have dreamed… heavily.”

 

She stepped down the path, taking her dream lover’s outstretched hand.  Dr Nassir moved quickly and excitedly ahead of them.

 

Her putative husband lowered his mouth to her ear murmuring, “Dreams are fabulous things, are they not, my lotus blossom?  They grant all sorts of wishes, even ones we didn’t know we had until we wished them.”

 

He lowered his free hand to her abdomen, and she gasped as an answering flutter moved under his hand.  “Tiamat has granted us great joy, my fire-haired wife.  Let’s not waste any more time on defining what is and isn’t reality.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ophiuchus is a Constellation name, depicted as a man supporting a serpent, meaning serpent bearer. Ophiuchus, the man depicted in the constellation is thought by some to actually be the demigod Asclepius, who learned the secret of life and death from a serpent and was killed by Zeus to prevent him from sharing his knowledge with mankind.
> 
> While I’ve chosen to butcher the ancient Babylonian pantheon’s story to write this little plot, many of the gods mentioned were worshipped in Babylon, although probably more piously than I treated them in the story. Marduk did use treachery to defeat the underworld Dragon Lord Qingu/Kingu, and Tiamat, the primordial dragon goddess, did sew the tablets that conveyed creation/destiny onto Marduk’s chest to make him her consort after he stole them from Qingu. 
> 
> The rules of the challenge: Write a two-shot that contains lemons, limes or both. Use one of the prompts (not listed.) I chose to use: It was the month of the Goddess Queen, and my life was falling apart rather spectacularly.
> 
> Thanks go to my alpha-reader, Lady Zombie, my beta-reader, Jilliane, and to Rose from work who approved the erotic content.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Please take the time to let me know what you think.


End file.
